In Another World
by TaiKaze
Summary: "In another world, You'd be the perfect criminal!" "And you Lestrade, the perfect policeman!" S/J
1. Chapter 1

["In another world, You'd be the perfect criminal!" Lestrade. I had to do it! I blame it on that line! I totaly do! LiboChan betaed!]

It's a normal day. It's dull and grey and his leg hurts more then ever. They say there's nothing wrong with it, that it's all in his head, but he doesn't listen.

He has to leave London. He can't even imagine it. After dragging his sorry leftovers back from the front line he has to leave. John can barely stand it. Still, London is colder then he remembers, and life has lost it's colours.

What is he suppose to do know?

"Stop! Stop that man! Halt!"

There is shouting and suddenly there is a tall man in a long coat running towards him. After comes a number of other men, two in police uniforms, most in regular suits, and they look like they have been running the double distance.

The man in the dark coat casts a glance over his shoulder and smirks, and John decides to act.

Just as the man passes, the soldier braces himself, then shoves out his cane at the long legs. The tall man falls, hard and flat and in a second John is on top of him, pinning his arms to his back.

"That's as far as you go...!"

A pale grey (or is it blue?) eye stares up at him like he just fell from the sky.

"You caught me...?"

It's more of a question then anything else, and John is almost surprised by the lack of struggle.

"A soldier huh..."

Then, they are swarmed by coppers, so John gets no chance to ask how he knew and the tall man doesn't lift a finger to fight back as he is hauled up on his feet and cuffed. He keeps looking at John, like he has never seen a limp ex-soldier before, and John can't help feeling like the man sees through his very soul.

"Ah! Thank you Mister! You have no idea how much you'v helped! Detective inspector Lestrade. If you could just come with us, we need all the statements we can get against this guy...!"

"Oh yes, of course... I'm doctor Jo..."

The hand he holds out is taken but the rest of his introduction is stopped.

"Don't! Sorry it's just... You don't want that man to know your name. In case he holds a grudge..."

They both glance at the tall dark man, who smirks and almost purrs in response.

"Now now Lestrade. You know it's impossible to keep anything from me."

The DI glares and waves to the others to shove him in a car. John watches them drive away before he asks.

"So, who was that?"

Lestrade looks at him, a sort of "I'm sorry, Santa isn't real" look and he answers.

"That, was Sherlock Holmes. The worst criminal London has ever seen. And I'm sorry, but I think you might have caught his interest."

As thanks for his statement, Lestrade gives him the story.

Nobody really knows where Sherlock Holmes came from. There are a number of Holmes families, but not one will admit he's related.

No wonder really, with his reputation.

It's mostly theft. Clever little games. He deals in drugs too, but not much of it seems to reach the general public. Sherlock has told them to stay away from the school yards. One of his few redeeming traits.

It's not like he needs the money, he has been filthy rich for years if he has any sense for money at all. No, Sherlock does it for the thrill. He plans plans and plots plots. Huge brain and an ego to match.

Then there is the irregulars. That's what they are called, cause not two of them are alike. Most of them are homeless, most of them are kids. Sherlock has them running his errands, and they are loyal to a fault. Any secrets they might have, you'd have to break their teeth to get them out. Lestrade is not that desperate, yet.

He owns London. That's the truth and Lestrade looks a bit relived to be abled to say it out loud. Sherlock Holmes owns this city and there isn't anything they can do about it.

"But you have him!"

"For now. He'll be out before breakfast."

"Who pays his bail?"

"No one pays, he just leaves."

"What?"

Lestrade leans back in his chair and John feels sorry for him. Truly, deeply sorry for this man who's fighting a loosing battle every day of his life.

"He's a lock-picker too boot. No matter how tight security is, he gets out. Regular little MacGyver that one is. Could get out of any prison with a ball point pen and half a shoelace."

John doesn't know what to say, so he just nods and limps out again.

On the way, he passes Sherlock.

The man has his hands cuffed, and six armed guards. He looks like he's strolling through Hyde park.

When their eyes meet, John decides that they are blue, and Sherlock grins and says in a far too normal tone of voice.

"I'll see you soon Dr John Watson."

Then he is gone and John can only wonder how he knew, and how to get out of this mess. Not to mention how he got into it in the first place.

[Comments makes Tai type faster! X3]


	2. Chapter 2

It's just past midnight when there's a knock on the door. John isn't asleep, hasn't bothered yet, so he just gets up from his desk and wonders who on earth it could possibly be.

"Hello Doctor."

He's scared. His heart is pounding and he curses the fact that his gun is tucked safely away in his desk drawer.

"Might I come in?"

He glares at Sherlock. This is madness.

"No."

Whatever John expected in terms of response, it sure as hell wasn't a disappointed look like he had just kicked a puppy. Honestly, the dark, tall man actually pouts a bit before he asks.

"Why not?"

John hopes he's dreaming, that he's fallen asleep in his chair and that this is just a bad dream.

"Why the hell would I let you in? And aren't you suppose to be in prison?"

The criminal mastermind snorts, like the very thought is preposterous and leans against the doorway. He has yet to remove his hands from the pockets of the long coat.

"You are being quite unreasonable doctor. I just want to talk."

"Yeah, how did you know that?"

There is a smirk, much like the one he had while he was running.

"Your haircut."

"What?"

"I'd say you'r military, from your haircut. Obviously soldier but your hands aren't worn down from gunfire, so you haven't been doing much killing but you're still home, you're an honourable man so it's a legit reason, wounded in action, obviously traumatic experience judging from your limp, that's entirely psychosomatic by the way. So, military doctor is the best bet."

John stares at him, just plain stares.

"Oh, and this helped a bit."

He looks down at what the tall man holds out in his glove covered hand.

"That's... That's my phone! How did you..?"

"As we where getting up. I was quite curious about you so I decided to have a closer look."

John snatches it from him, opening it and glaring at it like he could make the thing tell him what the other man has gotten from it.

"You'r being evicted."

He closes the phone again, almost crushing it in his hand.

"I can help you."

"I don't want your help! Why would you give it to me to begin with?"

And Sherlock smiles. It sends chills down Johns spine and his hands go sweaty (and incredibly still) and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

"Because I'm bored. And I have a feeling that if you leave, I'll stay bored."

"What, I'm entertainment for you?"

Sherlock brings up the other hand, holding out a pice of paper.

"Don't worry, it's completely legal. It's just a friendly tip, that's all. Just call, have a talk with her. You won't regret it."

John wants to slam the door shut, scream at him to go away, but he doesn't. To his great surprise, even though every cell of his being is screaming that it's a bad idea, he raises his own hand and takes the pice of paper.

The smile stays, and the ice blue eyes narrow.

"Well, I'll see you around then, Doctor Watson."

"Guess I won't get away..."

And then he's gone, with the flutter of his coat and a bounce in his step, he is gone and John stands in the dimly lit hallway outside his empty apartment with the paper in his hand, and he can't stop the smile that for some unimaginable reason spreads over his face.

[Comments makes Tai type fatser! X3]


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Hudson was a very nice old lady. The flat was even nicer and possibly older. All walls had diffrent wallpapers but the couch was soft and the bedroom upstairs suited him just fine.

Part of him knew he must be insane to even be here, but he didn't want to listen. It sure beat walking around London like a zombie.

Mrs. Hudson was a nice woman, calm and cheerful. He could even afford the rent. He took it.

It really didn't surprise him much to walk into the flat two days later, a grocery bag in hand, to find Sherlock in one of the chairs in the living room.

"Hello..."

"Ah, hello John! I see you took the flat!"

"I see you broke in."

"I didn't break in, what do you take me for, some common burglar? I have the key."

He wanted to curse. He wanted to scream, hit him in the face and call the police (Lestrade had even given him the number to his direct line, just in case.) but to his great surprise, John found himself laughing.

Sherlock looked equally surprised. He beheld the laughing man in front of him like he was observing a wild animal, unaware if it was going to kill him or not.

"You...! You are bloody amazing! Really extraordinary!"

"What...?"

"Extraordinary! Quite extraordinary!"

John sank down in the chair opposite the crime lord and chuckled lightly. Sherlock blinked a couple of times before he answered.

"That's not what people usually say..."

"What do people usually say then?"

There was a snide smirk, one that spoke of deep loathing.

"Piss off."

John made tea, and Sherlock was still confused. This man was truly an enigma.

"Is there a reason you have yet to contact Lestrade? You haven't even attempted to text him, even away from my presence."

"And what good would that do me huh? You'd be back in a few hours and I'd prefer not to make you mad."

"I wouldn't be mad at you John."

"Really?"

He looked so damn curious that Sherlock decided to try and put words to whatever had inspired this insane little trip.

"No. I would be disappointed, and a bit surprised though."

"Is that so?"

"Well, you ARE here John, even though you know very well who I am and what I do. The fact that you still took this offer, even though I made it... It makes you either a spy, someone about to attempt to infiltrate my organization... With your background and moral standards it's highly likely... Or it makes you just as bored and lonely as myself. Frankly, I don't care much which it is, so let's not dwell on that subject."

"You're lonely?"

Sherlock sipped his tea and sighed.

"Of course I'm lonely. The general population of the world consists of nothing but idiots and I tire of them."

"Am I one of those idiots?"

Sherlock looked at him, that piercing look that went straight through him and John had to fist his hands not to squirm.

"At least you are an interesting idiot. That's something..."

"Oh. Thanks..."

"It's nothing personal."

"I figured... What is the deal with that any way? You have absolutely no manners!"

"I have them, I just don't utilize it in everyday life."

"Why not?"

"Boring."

John watches the man sip his cup of tea, coat thrown over the back of the chair, one foot on the other knee, like he was in his own living room.

"Amazing..."

"What?"

"You, you're bloody amazing you are."

"Yes, I know. Any particular aspect you are referring to or is it just a general statement?"

If anyone else had done this, John was pretty sure he'd be mad. If any one else had been acting so smug, he would have told them off and thrown them out. Now, he found himself biting his lip not to laugh.

"Just a general statement I guess..."

Sherlock gave him a wicked grin over the edge of the cup and downed the last sip. John smiled back.

"So... Is there a reason you have the keys to my flat?"

His little burglar gently placed the now empty cup on the tray between them and huffed in an air of righteousness.

"I live here, of course."

"Sorry, I thought I lived here?"

"Well, you do. I mostly stay here when I want to keep a low profile. Mrs. Hudson isn't part of my organization and she is quite discrete."

"She must know what you do...!"

"Oh yes! I provide her with samples of her... "herbal soothers" and she lets me stay. That and I helped her out when her husband got himself sentenced to death a few years back."

"You stopped her husband from being executed?"

He should be scared. That grin should have scared him but John knew himself well enough to recognise that shot of electricity down his spine.

"Oh no, I insured it."

Excitement.

He was, he had to be honest to himself at least. He was having tea with his big shot crimelord flatmate and he couldn't help but to feel the rush of adrenalin, his mind quick and alert again, his hands still as stone. Even the pain in his leg had faded away.

Suddenly, London was filled with colours again, and he got to stay.

"More tea Sherlock?"

[AN; I love doing AUs... Lets me drift in and out of canon as much as I want! XP I do admit this story is a pinhole down from Irregular Life, but I do post as soon as I get stuff back from my lovely ginger/rude beta! X3 And the best way to keep me typing is really just to shower my inbox with comments!]


	4. Chapter 4

When John was young, he was often schooled for being to curious. His parents worried about his well-being, since he was always sticking his nose in where it might get cut off.

And John was not an easily frightened child either. It took a lot of effort from their side to make him more cautious about his own safety.

As a result, John was now quite good at ignoring things that might attract even the most curious person, and it was very close that he walked straight past the area blocked off by policetejp. Close, but he caught a glimpse of a familiar face between the blinking lights.

"Lestrade?"

The detective inspector turned around, at first not abled to place the fairly normal face in the crowd, but then half a smile lit up on his face and he walked over.

Gesturing for John to come to the other side, holding up the tejp while the army vet made his stubborn leg take the necessary angle, Lestrade had to voice his concern.

"Doctor Watson! I was beginning to worry about you, you know. I take it Sherlock has left you alone?"

John cursed under his breath when he straightened out, clutching his cane until his knuckles paled. Still, he refused to appear week. Finally standing upright, he shook his head, walking side by side with Lestrade into the crime scene.

"No, he hasn't. Far from it actually, he's practically moved in with me."

The inspector gaped at him with round eyes, then he grumbled and muttered.

"No matter, he won't get caught anyway…"

"And that's why I'm telling you."

John felt Lestrade's sharp eyes on him, and he briefly wondered how Sherlock has managed to stay out of the mans traps, but then he remembers that Lestarde is a mortal man, and John's not so sure Sherlock is.

"Are you protecting him, Watson?"

John wants to smile, he doesn't know why but now a days he just can't seem to stop smiling. Its been a long time since has felt this good.

"You of all people should know Sherlock needs no one to protect him."

Lestrade nods, sighing deeply.

"True enough. Just make sure you don't get roped into something dangerous."

"I'll keep a eye out."

"Good ma… SHERLOCK?"

John turns, confused, and Lestrade storms off towards the barrier again, this time with a good stomp in his step.

"You are one smug bastard, coming here!"

And when John sees him, part of him is completely baffled that he didn't notice him before. It's like he should be the first face John would see in every crowd in the world. The rest of him forces the bum leg to move forward.

Sherlock doesn't move, he just fixes his eyes (they are steel grey today, John notices) on the body-shaped figure the ambulance drivers are shoving forward over London's wet pavement.

"Details, Lestrade."

"I'm not giving you any bloody details, as far as I know you'r the one that bloody did it!"

John makes it just in time to see the flash of anger in Sherlocks eyes. He's never seen it before and now, for the first time, he fears the crime lord.

"Do you honestly believe I am capable of this, detective inspector?"

The air is chillier, Lestrade squirming awkwardly under the cold gaze until he finally snaps back.

"Of doing it? Yes! To him… No."

John glances between them before he asks.

"Why not?"

Lestrade sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like he's slept by his desk for the past week (maybe he has, he's very concerned about doing his job) and answers John almost lazily.

"Cause Sherlock might be a cold blooded killer, but he's not going to go and kill a family man in that brutal manner. He does have a heart…"

"I most evidently do not!"

"… Even if he denies it."

Sherlock grunts and keeps his eyes on the pale sheet over the body. John almost laughs but it doesn't feel right to do so at a crime scene so instead he keeps asking.

"He had family?"

"Wife and two kids, one more on the way…"

"And a mistress across town. You could do worse then to ask her."

"Git."

Sherlock just smirks and hands Lestrade a paper with an address. The detective takes it, stuffing it in his pocket with a contemplating look before he, almost regrettably, speaks again.

"We could use some help…"

"You always need help. Can't even catch me and I'm right under your nose."

John would like to point out to the tall, arrogant man that it's more the other way around but he doesn't. Still doesn't feel right.

"No Sherlock… I mean I could use your help."

Lestrade hates himself for asking, that much is clear. He hates the fact that he has to ask Sherlock for help and his pride is a long faded memory, but he does it anyway because if there is a killer on the street not working for Sherlock, it's going to get ugly.

Of course, Sherlock is above gloating.

"Why Lestrade, are you saying that the mighty Yard needs the help of a common criminal to solve an obvious case like this? My my… What a predicament."

"Shut your mouth before I shoot you."

John suspects that in reality, they are very good friends.

Sherlock ducks in under the tejp and Lestrade has to forcibly keep his lieutenants from tackling the tall man to the ground on sight. John limps after, not really sure what he's doing there but not willing to leave unless someone asks him too.

Sherlock trips around the scene like a cat around a puddle, bending down and sniffing about and John thinks he even saw the man lick a rock before tossing it away. Lestrade waits patiently, keeping both eyes on the other man at all times.

"He was beaten to death, that much is certain…"

"We figured, with his bashed in skull and all that."

"It wasn't here though… Not enough blood and the bins are undisturbed."

"What?"

"If there had been a fight in these close quarters, some of them should have been knocked about. But there is still a good amount of fresh blood on the ground so it's not far…"

Lestrade doesn't wait until Sherlock is finished, just waves to the grumpy officers on the side lines.

"Check the area, throughly! You don't want him to find something you missed, you'll never hear the end of it!"

"Why are we doing as he said? He's the one that killed him!"

Lestrade glares at the dark woman with the unpleasant voice and he growls, low and unnerving.

"Because I tell you to. Move!"

And they do. John is impressed, he hasn't seen such obedience since he came back to England and he understands that Lestrade is a very good man because that's the only reason these people throw themselves between the dirt and the muck to find any sign of disturbance.

He looks at Sherlock and Sherlock looks back, smirking. Then he looks at the ambulance driving off and he casually (too casually, Sherlock never does anything without purpose) leans into John's personal space and asks, no, states.

"You're and army man… An army doctor no less…"

"Yeah?"

"Seen your fair share of horror. Blood and guts, men blown half to bits…"

"Yeah, and?"

"Gotten a bit of action too. Lot's of shooting and killing."

"Yes. Enough, for a lifetime."

Sherlock pierces him with his eyes and for some reason they are blue again.

"Care to see some more?"

John knows he should go home, change the locks and move to another city as soon as he can. Like hell he will.

"Oh God yes."

[AN; I am a bit stuck on this story, so if you could just tell me what you want to see here, I might get some ideas to keep going!]


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